


embrace you for all you’re worth

by dizzyondreams



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Basically, Borderline Personality Disorder, Introspection, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Trans Male Character, Trans Newton Geiszler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6181708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzyondreams/pseuds/dizzyondreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The push and pull nature of their relationship doesn’t stop at the door to the bedroom, and Hermann loves to get Newt begging in a way which reveals more than he’s probably aware of. Newt? Well, he just loves to be loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	embrace you for all you’re worth

**Author's Note:**

> you can listen to the mix i put together to write this to: it's a good vibe + if u like that sort of thing listen while u read! u can listen [here!](https://open.spotify.com/user/alicerogers299/playlist/1W2ofGfOEOGDyfly6lhKvS)
> 
> tw for fantasies of gore/surgery and body horror

The room is silent save for the rasping burn of Hermann’s cigarette as he inhales. Newt’s thoughts bounce off the inside of his skull, gaze mapping the angles of Hermann as best he can without glasses. The soft slope of his throat, the hard angle of his jaw, the irregular crook of his leg stretched stiffly out in front of him. Newt wants to get his hands into that thigh, not in the sexy way, the biologist screaming inside of him to map out the scar tissue and the wasted muscle.

He rolls onto his back, and the grey ceiling above them is no more forgiving than the way Hermann’s eyelashes look against his cheekbones. His heart thuds noisy in his chest, he throws an arm over his eyes to block the world out. The smell of smoke is thick in the air, and Newt’s head swims as he breathes it in.

Newt hasn’t slept in a few days. Pretty standard, especially this close to the apocalypse. Every time he lies down in his own bed all he can see is Hermann’s map of the breach, and every time he closes his eyes phosphorescent teeth and claws lunge for him. Nature, blue in tooth and claw. He wonders idly, arm still protective over his eyes, if nightmares are actually worse than this. This meaning sharing a bed with Hermann, of course. His crappy, military-issue mattress and itchy sheets, his frustrating _hands_ and _eyelashes_ that make Newt want to taste the hollow of his throat, the dip of his navel.

He drags hands down his face. Hermann smokes next to him, silent, oblivious.

“Are you quite finished?” Newt asks when Hermann stubs his cigarette out, a little bitchy because that’s just how he is. Hermann, who is way used to it by now, ignores him.

This whole…bed sharing thing isn’t new between them. Neither is Newt’s crush, really, but he’s feeling impulsive and alone and disconnected and historically that’s the worst mind set for him re: Hermann. His mind feels like one long tangent of milky skin and sharp cheekbones and the twist of Hermann’s mouth when he’s worried about Newt. Newt’s heart beats double time in his chest in the way it does only when he’s dropping off the edge of mania into something deadened and slow. He wants to reach out and touch, suck nicotine fingers into his mouth and hold Hermann like the precious thing he is.

Hermann switches the light out, eases himself horizontal and pulls the cover over his bare shoulder. Newt is left adjusting to the new darkness, hands curling and plucking at the sheet underneath them. He aches across the space between them, not daring to reach a hand across and close it like he wants to. He knows Hermann’s skin will be cold under his own hand, which has been warmed by the nervous sweat he’s been working up since Hermann had lifted the corner of his duvet for him.

He lies stock still, a feat in itself, watching Hermann’s side rise and fall with his breaths. He’s thin, wiry, and Newt _wants_. Hermann is sharp in all the places Newt is soft, and yielding in all the places Newt is a wall. Newt wants to crack open his ribs and dip his fingers inside, shift through the viscera to find the knot of love he carries for Newt. Newt wants to crack it in his hands like an egg, because it scares him. People who love him always leave, and he can’t quite imagine what it’d be like if Hermann left. He would rather shred him apart than have him go. Newt would rather have Hermann hate him like he’s never hated anyone before than have him leave. The real kind of hate, not the routine they’ve slipped into, a comforting status quo that Newt would rather die than give up. _That_ hate is passion, it’s intelligence and excitement and something that he’d only ever found as Hermann as his partner.

He can’t imagine himself without Hermann. He thinks that he’d probably become smoke, slip away into nothingness. Then he gets angry, because he’s Newton fucking Geiszler and he shouldn’t rely on anyone that much. He’s more than enough for two people, enough neuroticism, enough personality, enough intelligence, he’s bursting at the seams but it’s never enough to fill him up. He’s afraid that without someone to see him, to hear him and contest him, he’ll stop existing. A tiny knot at the back of his mind knows that he’s nothing when he has nobody to bounce off of. He overcompensates for it, but with Hermann he knows he can tone it down, be a little less brash and loud. Hermann sees him.

Hermann shifts next to him, and Newt lets his attention be dragged away from the self-indulgent navel-gazing he’s prone to when sleep deprived. The silence eases out into something a little less muffling, heavy, and Newt finds himself able to catch a breath again. His mind slows, settles. Hermann’s face is tipped towards him, hand thrown into the space between them. His face loses that tight-lipped expression of superiority in sleep, and Newt thinks that he’d give up sleep forever just to see him like this. Soft and open and years younger than he looks awake. The yearning to touch is almost physical in his chest, and Newt has never been one to deny himself things he wants, so he reaches a hand out to graze fingertips with Hermann.

His fingers twitch at the touch, involuntary, sweet. Newt continues his exploration across the warm centre of his palm, mapping out his fate line, life line with feather-light touches. Trails a fingertip over palmaria longus, the jut of his triquetral bone, up to the soft underbelly of his forearm. Newt can imagine it splayed out before him, red as he sinks his fingers in, and God, he loves him. He drifts back to Hermann’s palm, and his fingers close around Newt’s own. Hermann’s pulse beats steady under his fingers.

Newt drifts, then. Hand in Hermann’s, sleep comes a little easier. The bed is warm, albeit uncomfortable, but Newt has definitely slept in much worse places. Hermann’s breathing is soft and steady, lulling him closer to deep sleep which every exhale. It’s always been like this, he thinks. Hermann is constructive, he helps. He maps, solves, plots trajectories and estimates. All Newt can do is break. He curls his hand more securely around Hermann’s fingers.

He wakes to Hermann’s arm sliding across his chest, the bony press of his elbow against his sternum stirring him into wakefulness. Hermann’s nose nudges against Newt’s jaw, and he exhales slowly, peacefully. Newt tips his head to the side, wiggling aside a little and rolling onto his side as Hermann blinks his eyes open. When he clocks his arm over Newt, now gravitated to his waist, he stiffens and withdraws.

“What are you _doing_.” He hisses, no real heat behind it. His voice is thick with sleep, and Newt’s heart aches with affection. It lodges in his throat, his love strangling him. Only fitting when he thinks about it.

“You cuddled up to me, dude.” He murmurs through the dark, and Hermann huffs sleepily and curls up. His knees nudge against Newt’s, and a bold part of Newt makes him move closer, right into Hermann’s space.

“I don’t _cuddle_.” Hermann breathes, but his fingers trace pleasing trails up Newt’s side, nudging under his t-shirt and trailing across his hip. Newt shivers pleasantly, tiredly. Hermann’s fingers follow the line of the waves over his hips, unconscious and endearing. Newt tries his best not to arch into the ghosting touch.

“You wanna?” Newt asks when Hermann’s forehead tips against his, and knows without looking his eyes are closed.

“Yes.” Hermann whispers, almost reverent, and his fingers dip beneath the stretched out elastic of Newt’s shorts. Newt hums as Hermann’s fingers drag over his dick, raising his hands to cup Hermann’s jaw and draw his face down to kiss him. The touch of Hermann’s tongue to his is heady, and he’s drunk on insomnia and the way Hermann’s fingers press over him so perfectly. He tilts his hips up, grinds down on the heel of Hermann’s palm as he dips two fingers inside him. “Du bist damit nass.” He breathes, and Newt groans into his mouth, rocks his hips down impatiently.

“Bitte.” He pleads, and Hermann just kisses him quiet and swallows the noises he makes as he presses his fingers to the spot inside Newt that makes him whimper. He can feel Hermann hard against his thigh, and it sends an unexpected pulse of heat between his legs that makes him bite out a surprised noise into Hermann’s mouth. “You’re a fucking tease, dude.” He accuses breathlessly, no fire in his words. The push and pull nature of their relationship doesn’t stop at the door to the bedroom, and Hermann loves to get Newt begging in a way which reveals more than he’s probably aware of. Newt? Well, he just loves to be loved.

 _I love you,_ he thinks when he comes, wet and messy into the palm of Hermann’s hand. Hermann’s fingers hook into his mouth, tasting like himself and like cigarettes. _I know_.

Newt jerks Hermann off with his face pressed into his throat, mouth wet and open on his milky skin. Hermann shudders when he comes, a full body thing, and does it again when Newt licks his cum off his fingers.

“You’ll be the death of me.” He whispers, drawing Newt in close to him, curling around Newt and burying his nose in his nape. Newt’s head feels heavy, his body warm and sated. The buzzing in his fingers and behind his eyes has dulled, and he can barely keep his eyes open, let alone come up with a snappy reply.

“Better me than a Kaiju.” He manages, grinning at his own joke as Hermann makes a noise of disgust and swats at his bicep.

“I’ll leave that line of fantasy up to you.” Hermann murmurs, breath fanning warm against the back of Newt’s neck. His scalp prickles, and he shivers happily, still feeling the throb and the slickness between his legs.

Newt sleeps well, Hermann’s hand curled in his. He dreams of eating Hermann whole, finally having him all to himself, his arms slick to the elbows with blood.

**Author's Note:**

> newt bastardises a line from tennyson's poem in memoriam + i can't take credit for it! title from the hymn of acxiom, and comments r always encouraging! thank u for reading 
> 
> \+ thank u to jo for proofreading/encouraging/coining the term poignorn (poignant porn)


End file.
